It stares at me, this blank page,
So empty it seems,
But then,
it holds the longings of my heart.
There may be days of strife,
Some glad tidings too,
Amongst,
Listfulness,
A tireless craving,
that bears my heart down.
This heart that bears the fruits of love,
writes to absolve,
an obsession.
Dear Self,
He is not what he seems to be,
He bears alliance to another,
He weighs his lifestyle on a throne he has built,
That's borne of this world.
One of rich indulgence,
One of arrogance,
One that keeps company,
with many of his desirous cravings.
He seeks beauty,
He seeks fame,
He has a lover,
and yet,
He seeks another.
Would guilt tame him,
No, not at this time,
nor for the future,
And I,
I write to
Erase,
Eradicate,
Thoughts that encompasses him.
-shobana-
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